Darkening Skies (The Hadrumal Crisis)

by McKenna Juliet E.

  Now she wondered what news Tornauld might have heard from the world beyond these walls. News which he had clearly not seen fit to pass on to her. She looked around again. Where was the burly wizard today?

  ‘I have no knowledge of wizards’ customary dealings with each other or anyone else,’ Licanin said testily. ‘How am I supposed to know how they stay informed?’

  He glared around the courtyard. The folk who had been standing watching their noble visitor’s encounter with the mage hastily resumed the tasks they’d had in hand or found something new demanding their attention.

  Licanin looked back at Zurenne. ‘Where is Lady Ilysh?’

  ‘In the shrine, dealing with our correspondence from Taw Ricks.’ Zurenne wasn’t to be deterred. She repeated Merenel’s question. ‘Do you expect to see such hostility to wizardry in Caladhria?’

  Now Licanin looked around to assure himself they were not overheard. He looked down at Esnina and then to Raselle. ‘Might your maid take the child for some refreshment while you and I take a walk outside the walls?’ he suggested pointedly.

  ‘Of course.’ Zurenne coloured, mortified to realise that she had neglected such basic duties of hospitality. ‘Neeny, go with Raselle.’ She urged the child towards the maid. ‘Ask Abiath to prepare wine and cakes for Lord Licanin on our return.’

  She accepted the grey-haired nobleman’s arm and walked with him towards the gatehouse. He didn’t speak until they were well clear of the manor’s entrance, leading her in the other direction from the bustle of carpentry.

  ‘How sound is this outer wall?’ He squinted in the sunlight, tracing a crack upwards through the masonry to the crumbled tiles at the top.

  ‘Substantial sections will need rebuilding,’ Zurenne admitted. ‘But we can tackle that once everyone has a roof over their head for the winter seasons.’

  Licanin shaded his eyes with a gloved hand as he considered the clouds on the seaward horizon. ‘Dastennin be thanked that the weather’s stayed fair for Halferan’s labours so far but the season will soon turn.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Zurenne agreed. She had been offering her own prayers of thanks to the god of sea and storms as well as to Larasion, goddess of wind and weather.

  Licanin offered his arm to Zurenne again and they continued walking.

  ‘Tell Master Rauffe to wait until For-Spring to start on these repairs,’ he advised. ‘Work will have to stop with the first frosts regardless.’

  Zurenne had already decided to defer such work. For one thing, she and Ilysh had established how much further afield Halferan’s wagons would have to go to find a ready supply of fired bricks. Their calculations had already proved that the salvaged building materials would fall far short of what was required.

  She challenged Lord Licanin’s assumption all the same. ‘I imagine Madam Merenel will be able to keep the mortar from freezing.’

  ‘I think that you will find it is time for all these wizards to return to Hadrumal,’ Licanin said firmly. ‘The corsairs are defeated—’

  ‘They were driven off,’ Zurenne interjected. ‘Who knows if they will return?’

  Licanin shook his head. ‘Your household and the demesne folk cannot become reliant upon wizardry. A barony’s men need to work to earn their bread and beer. Their sons must be apprenticed to master craftsmen to learn their own trades. Halferan cannot prosper if half the tenantry is left idle,’ he warned her. ‘Caladhria cannot afford to have malcontents and shirkers looking on with envious eyes and demanding magic to relieve their own labours, not if the country is to thrive. We hear that the Aldabreshi in Relshaz are refusing to do business with merchants who have any dealings with Hadrumal. How long before those same merchants spurn any Caladhrian barony indebted to their wizardry?’

  ‘When did you hear this, my lord?’ Zurenne interrupted. She had just realised the implications of Merenel’s words. If unease about wizardry in Relshaz had erupted in the past handful of days, Licanin could not possibly have received such news at his home and then made the six or seven day journey here.

  Licanin cleared his throat. ‘I was paying a visit to Lord Darmenid. Since Halferan lay on my route home, I decided to pay you a visit.’

  An unannounced visit. Zurenne forbore to point out that inherent discourtesy. That would be for Corrain to do when he returned, just as he would doubtless seek to discover what business Licanin had with the barony lying between Lord Tallat’s southern boundary and the port city of Attar.

  Of course, Corrain had taken ship for Hadrumal in Attar. Had Lord Darmenid got word of that? Perhaps Zurenne would write a letter to the noble baron’s wife.

  ‘Once Halferan is rebuilt, I imagine our association with wizardry will cease,’ she said carefully. ‘I see no reason for the Relshazri to fret over magic’s wider influence in Caladhria. There are not so many wizards even in the largest towns, as I understand it, and fewer still willing to trade their skills for coin and toil.’

  Licanin shook his head once again. ‘No one knows how many wizards there are in Hadrumal. We don’t know if we can trust the Archmage’s word these days. He swore for a year and more that his precious edicts forbade offering the slightest assistance to Caladhria’s innocents, however grievously they suffered. Then as easily as rolling a rune, he changed his mind and sent magic to sink the raiders’ ships and to repel the villains attacking Halferan. Not that he saw fit to tell our parliament, beforehand or subsequently,’ he added with rising ire.

  Zurenne wondered how much similar indignation was scorching the pages of letters criss-crossing Caladhria since the most recent parliament had been summoned out of season.

  ‘Has this Master Tornauld let slip anything of the Archmage’s intentions?’ Licanin’s arm tightened, pulling her closer.

  Zurenne was certain that there was nothing to be gained by telling Licanin that Planir had no hand in the corsairs’ defeat. Even if he believed her.

  ‘I have no notion what the Archmage may be doing.’

  ‘Once he has helped ensure your demesne folk have shelter for the winter, you may thank Master Tornauld and bid him farewell,’ Licanin said firmly. ‘I have no doubt that the present Baron Halferan will agree that is the best course for Halferan.’

  Zurenne saw Licanin’s lined face wrinkle further with a grimace of distaste, though she could not tell if that was for Tornauld or Corrain.

  She pulled her hand free of Licanin’s elbow. ‘The present Baron Halferan has deferred all decisions on the manor’s renewal to me, out of respect for his former lord, my lamented husband.’

  Licanin rounded on her. ‘Where is Corrain? What is he doing now? Why has he permitted you and your daughters to stay here so inadequately chaperoned?’

  Zurenne stared at him in disbelief. ‘Is that what brought you here? Truly? You imagine that I would disgrace my beloved’s memory with some sordid dalliance in the midst of all these onlookers? That I would turn a blind eye to Ilysh cuckolding a husband who has not even bedded her?’

  Now it was Licanin’s turn to colour with deep embarrassment. ‘I would never believe any such thing, but you should know that some have wondered what the Archmage might seek by way of return for his assistance against the corsairs. For all the gold he has given Halferan to spend on this rebuilding.’

  Zurenne was forced to keep her tongue behind her teeth a second time. She could hardly tell Lord Licanin that Planir only sought to repay her for all that the barony had suffered at the hands of the renegade mage Minelas. Not with such unforeseen unease at the notion of wizardry spreading among the parliament’s lords.

  Besides, now she had both the leisure and the ledgers to tally up Halferan’s losses, Zurenne was uncomfortably aware that Planir’s gift of coin far outstripped whatever Master Minelas could have stolen. Not that any amount could offer recompense for the loss of her husband.

  ‘Who whispers such spite?’ she hissed instead. ‘Baron Karpis? Lord Tallat? Will they dare repeat such things when Corrain returns?’

  Once
again, Licanin hesitated, searching for a fitting reply. Zurenne didn’t give him the chance to find one.

  ‘I take it this is all that you have to say? I cannot think how you might insult me, my daughter, Halferan’s new lord or my beloved husband’s memory further. Shall we return to the gatehouse? There will be refreshments ready. You are very welcome to enjoy wine and cakes before you continue on your way.’

  Zurenne was surprised to realise they had made almost half the circuit of the damaged walls. She decided she might as well go onwards as retrace her steps.

  Licanin’s weary voice stopped her.

  ‘I came here to invite you and your daughters to celebrate the equinox festival with us.’

  Zurenne turned to see him standing where she had left him, half shame-faced, half indignant.

  ‘Your sister, my lady wife, thought that you might welcome a few days of respite and comfort.’ Licanin spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

  She recalled an unguarded line she had written in her last letter to Beresa, longing for an easeful night’s sleep in a feather bed in a silent, secure tower. She had admitted something of the sort to Celle and Danlie as well. Had all her sisters gone to their husbands with their concerns?

  In the next breath she remembered Licanin’s unexpected arrival when she was Minelas’s terrified captive, though the renegade mage had long since departed. The noble lord and his troopers had driven off the hired ruffians incarcerating her. That had only been the first of his many actions defending her interests, irrespective of Corrain’s return or any mage’s intervention.

  Zurenne felt a blush of shame warm her cheeks. ‘That is a generous invitation, my lord. Shall we see what Lady Ilysh wishes?’

  Did he understand what she was saying? If staying here was Lysha’s decision, as Zurenne was sure it would be, he would know his offer wasn’t being rejected because of this quarrel.

  ‘As you wish.’ Lord Licanin began walking, though this time he did not offer her his arm.

  They concluded the circuit of the manor’s outer wall without further conversation. As they reached the gatehouse, Sirstin held the porter’s door open.

  ‘Good day to you, my lady. My lord Licanin.’

  Licanin merely grunted by way of reply but Zurenne saw more tiredness than anger in his face. Even with the recent good weather, this journey must have been taxing for a man of his years.

  ‘We could offer you and your men tents and blankets and a meal this evening,’ she said tentatively. ‘Rough fare but satisfying. You could take tomorrow to rest before you take to the road again the following morning.’

  ‘We’ve no wish to be a burden.’ Licanin slid a sideways glance at her before continuing, more conciliatory. ‘The demesne’s folk must have first call on Halferan’s resources.’

  Zurenne nodded, judging this was as far as either of them need go towards an apology.

  She could see Abiath beside the shrine door; the old woman’s curtsey a clear summons. Zurenne led the way and they found Neeny sitting on the tiled floor putting her wooden animals inside the wall of blocks which Raselle was building. Lysha was sealing the morning’s letters.

  ‘Lady Ilysh.’ Licanin greeted her politely.

  ‘My lord.’ She stood and curtseyed dutifully.

  Raselle scrambled to her feet, hurrying to pick up a plate of griddle cakes from the table where Abiath was pouring wine into two glasses which had survived the journey from Taw Ricks.

  ‘Esnina.’

  As Lord Licanin greeted her, the little girl stayed sat on the floor, looking up with wide, doubtful eyes.

  ‘Neeny,’ Ilysh prompted.

  ‘No matter.’ Licanin waved a hand before accepting a glass from Abiath. He looked around the shrine. ‘So this is your muniment room now.’

  ‘For the present.’ Ilysh glanced at the chests of documents stowed beneath the lowest shelves where the manor’s funeral urns had once stood. ‘We mean no disrespect.’

  ‘So I see,’ Lord Licanin assured her.

  No one could accuse Halferan of impiety. Statues of the gods and goddesses had been gathered from the closest shrines and each one stood on an embroidered cloth on the polished shelves.

  Zurenne took her own glass of wine and a cake from the plate. It was a cup-cut round of flour, butter and dried apple rather than an elegant honey wafer but it was warm and golden from the griddle. Let Licanin scorn it if he dared.

  Then Zurenne realised that Licanin was frowning, concerned, as he looked at the crystal urn before Saedrin’s newly garlanded effigy. ‘Have you suffered some new loss?’

  Ilysh shook her head. ‘We brought my father’s urn here when we decided to stay as the manor is rebuilt.’

  Licanin nodded. ‘That is entirely fitting.’

  Zurenne smiled at Lysha. Then she noticed that Neeny’s plump lower lip was quivering. Mention of her lost father still prompted the little girl’s tears. Zurenne spoke up quickly to distract her.

  ‘Lord Licanin has come to ask if we wish to spend the equinox festival with your lady aunt Beresa and your cousins.’

  ‘Mama?’ Ilysh looked anxiously at her.

  ‘You are the Lady of Halferan.’ Zurenne spoke gently, to draw any sting from the echo of their earlier arguments. ‘I could not make such a decision without you.’

  Ilysh bit her lower lip and looked at Esnina. Zurenne was relieved to see that Raselle had successfully soothed the little girl with a griddle cake.

  ‘That is a most generous offer.’ Ilysh took a cup of watered wine from Abiath and sipped. ‘But I would hardly be doing my duty as Halferan’s heir if we were to accept. Forgive me, my lord, but I could not enjoy feasting and dances knowing that I had left my barony’s people without any such pleasures. We have endured so much together. We should share this festival’s celebrations, however meagre.’

  Zurenne’s heart warmed with love and relief despite Lysha’s resemblance to her dead father twisting her heart.

  Noise from the compound outside turned everyone’s head. Esnina rushed to cling to her mother’s skirts, frustrating any hope of Zurenne seeing what had happened beyond the shrine door.

  ‘It’s the baron.’ Abiath was closest to the entrance and well able to see through the half-open door. ‘With Master Tornauld.’

  Zurenne scooped Neeny up and settled her on one hip. ‘Then let us all go and greet them.’

  As they approached the knot of men and women who had already gathered to besiege Corrain with questions, she saw Madam Merenel dragging Tornauld to one side. A chance gust of autumn wind carried their urgent words to her.

  ‘Where is the Archmage?’

  ‘Hasn’t he returned to Hadrumal?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Trydek’s Hall, Hadrumal

  26th of For-Autumn

  ‘ARCHMAGE. I WAS pleased to learn of your return.’ Troanna swept into the study, a combative glint in her eye. ‘I take it you have some compelling reason for cramming us in here?’

  Planir looked down, as though he could see through the floorboards to the spacious sitting room. ‘Herion, Ely, Sannin and Merenel are below collating lore on magecrafted artefacts gathered from our libraries. We should allow them some elbow room as they work.’

  Troanna was unimpressed. ‘I gather we can expect no help from the Solurans.’

  Planir smiled. ‘I thought I felt Canfor’s touch in the second nexus that was scrying after Corrain. He is quite correct,’ he continued briskly. ‘Not that I had any great hopes of the new baron persuading the Elders of Fornet. But now they know for certain that neither I nor this island had any part in bringing the Mandarkin south, thanks to the good sister adept.

  ‘More importantly they know without a shadow of doubt that this Anskal has amassed a hoard of ensorcelled artefacts from his Archipelagan treasure. They may yet change their minds, in the interests of defending themselves, or in hopes of securing such treasures for themselves. Hearth Master, you’re very welcome.’

  Kalion no
dded, his colour unflatteringly heightened after the exertion of climbing up the tower’s steps.

  ‘If the Solurans will not help us, I will not see them rewarded with the most meagre trinket,’ he growled.

  ‘Archmage.’ Nolyen appeared behind the Hearth Master. ‘Jilseth.’ He greeted her with muted relief.

  ‘I take it we are scrying after this Mandarkin again?’ Troanna barely acknowledged the younger mage’s arrival as she contemplated the table where a shallow bowl stood beside vials of perfumery oils and a bowl of crumbled bitumen, now mostly dust.

  ‘Once we have seen what Jilseth’s prize can tell us.’ Planir gestured towards a second tile-topped table bearing a tall-sided copper bowl.

  ‘Necromancy?’ Troanna shook her head, dismissive. ‘If you really believe there is anything of value to be learned from a dead man’s hand, you may proceed without me.’

  ‘A moment—if you please, Flood Mistress.’ Kalion’s belated courtesy did little to blunt the sharpness of his rebuke. ‘Archmage? Do you bring any worthwhile news from Suthyfer?’

  ‘Any aetheric insights into how we might deal with this Mandarkin?’ Troanna’s sarcasm was withering.

  ‘Unfortunately, no.’

  Jilseth wondered if anyone else had noticed the Archmage’s infinitesimal hesitation before he answered.

  ‘Yet it took you four days to establish this?’ queried Troanna.

  ‘While Relshaz’s wizards have been forced to bar their doors or bring their families to shelter in Hadrumal.’ Kalion shook his head, jowls wobbling with disapproval. ‘If wizardry had greater standing on the mainland, more influence with the Magistracy and other such rulers—’

  ‘Who has been scrying after the Mandarkin while I have been away?’ Planir asked sternly.